Spoons
by Kaila.Nicole
Summary: A two-shot about Myka's favorite genre of music, Pete's opinion about it, and a simple peace offering in the end. "'What’s wrong with my music' 'It sounds like spoons having sex.' 'It does not'."
1. Spoons

**AN: Here's another go-round with a Warehouse 13 fanfic. This one is a bit more comical, though. Mete! **

"No," Myka ordered and his eyes blinked pitifully. "No. You know I don't do puppy-dog eyes."

"Why nottttt?"

"We're heading to Florida in the morning. I don't want you complaining about a sore stomach the whole way there. A 35 year-old man filled with sugary treats isn't exactly... delectable on a 16-hour drive."

"Yeah but-"

"Pete."

"Yes?"

"Don't."

"You're no fun," He pouted and she placed a hand onto the rise of her hip. Knowing he was about to be chewed out by a very pissed-off Myka, he threw both his hands up into the air. "Hey, now. All right. We'll make a trade." As she moved her stance- leaning against the counter now- he knew he had intrigued her interest.

"What kind of trade?"

"I won't eat any cookies if you don't play that terrible music in the car."

"What's wrong with my music?"

"It sounds like spoons having sex!"

"It does not!"

"Does too."

"Does _not_!"

"Does too."

"Does- you know what? Never mind." She stuck her hand out, grabbing his firmly and sealing the deal. "No cookies, then."

"No spoon sex, then."

"It's called instrumental music, Pete."

"Sppoooooonnsss, Myka. Spoons making love." Resisting an eye roll, she let go of his hand and left the room. Pete watched her leave, eyeing her backside as she went. He spun around, giving the room a quick 360 and after assessing that no one was around, stuffed a dozen or so cookies into a Ziploc bag to hide away in his luggage. "Sucker."

Myka was regretting not taking a plane to Florida. She'd opted for a car instead because her father had notified her about the severe red level risk of a terrorist attack. Even though she was nearly thirty years-old and hated the idea of listening to her father, she didn't like lying to him, or anyone for that matter, so she went ahead and drove. Listening to Pete snore for seven hours, she found out, was worse than any plane explosion, though. And the fact that she couldn't listen to her favorite genre of music was eating at her. At least it would have drowned out the sound of her partner snoring. Although, since Pete- the ferret- had chewed apart her iPod, it wouldn't do her much good to whine over spilled milk, or in this case, broken iPods. Another loud snore erupted out of him and he rolled over, pressing his face against her upper arm. Yes, plunging out of the sky at 35,000 feet would be more pleasant. When a spot of moisture- presumably drool- soaked her jacket sleeve, she reached over to shove him back into his seat.

"Pete, move." He snored louder. "Pete. Seriously."

"Imtryinahgatahshlip."

"You need to wake up."

"No," His face burrowed closer, his head resting on her right shoulder.

"Pete, I am warning you. Don't you dare drool on my new-"

"Mmkay." His arms reached out, snuggling against her right limb. Seeing Pete Lattimer treat her like a fluffy pillow and mutter something about comfy sheets was too much. Myka chuckled softly to herself and took the next exit to find a hotel. Leaving Pete asleep in the car, she dragged their suitcases into the hotel room and tossed her onto her bed. "That's man's work, Bering." She shrieked at the sudden appearance of her partner, throwing Pete's suitcase- still in hand- into the air.

"Cookies!" Pete shouted, diving for the precious cargo. The black duffel bag stopped, inches away from his awaiting hands. It hovered for a moment before crashing down onto his head.

"How am I supposed to trust you as my partner when you can't even handle leaving cookies behind?" He could tell she was furious by her wide eyes and the twitching corners of her mouth. Was she really that mad because he'd broken a promise? Then again, this was Myka. She remembered everything he'd ever said to her- including stupid deals about his cookie fetish. He knew he should apologize. But what was he supposed to say? 'I'm sorry you hate cookies that much?'

"I guess I'm just a fat kid at heart." _Awesome response, Lattimer_, he hissed to himself and resisted the urge to smack his self upside the head. Rising from his position on the floor, he scooted out of her way as she headed out to the parking lot. "Where are you going?"

"I need some coffee." She slipped on her sunglasses, keys twirling in her open palm and glancing back at her partner, "I should be back in thirty minutes."

"You're going to leave me here?" Pete acted surprised, but really his mind was kicking into high gear about how he could get back on Myka's good side.

"You'll be okay. Besides," She slipped into her car and revved the engine, "you've got your damn cookies." Pete ignored the harsh tone in her voice and the tiny pebbles that pricked at his legs as she peeled out of the hotel's parking lot. He was too busy calculating the distance to the nearest Best Buy.

(Page Break)

When Myka returned, she found the hotel room completely dark. A sense of panic swept over her. _You idiot, what were you thinking leaving Pete alone! Now he's been kidnapped and if he doesn't have his cell phone or Farnsworth then there's no way to get a hold of him. And_-

"Surprise!" Her partner jumped out from behind the bathroom door. Her keys dropped to the floor and she instinctively tightened the grip on her gun.

"Pete, what on earth are you-"

"I know, I know. You're probably mad…" He trailed off as she narrowed her eyes. _Yeah, definitely mad_. "But I made it all up to you!"

"How?" He brought out the present from behind his back, wrapped crudely in newspaper. She grinned, quirking an eyebrow up. "Nice wrapping paper."

"Hey, I ran out of money buying the gift. Besides, it's the thought that counts, Bering."

"Pete, you didn't have to buy me anything." She placed her gun back into its holster and shut the hotel room door, flicking on the light. The gift wasn't too heavy and seemed to not be just loose change in a box. She'd learned to check for it after Christmas presents from her Aunt Linda. She popped open the tape on the side and slid the box out. "Pete, why on earth would you buy me a brand new iPod? Are you crazy?" She glanced up at him as he shrugged, a silly grin playing on his features.

"I just thought you'd need a new one since your ferret ate your last one. Besides, this one has cooler features than the other."

"Thanks, Pete," Myka pulled him close and she felt his arms go around her and squeeze tightly. When was the last time she'd had this much physical contact with someone? She couldn't recall, exactly. The pair stepped back nervously. This was new ground, a new territory they hadn't stepped onto yet. It was like testing the water with your toe for the first swim of the year. Little by little, you'd get accustomed to it and eventually, it would become natural. Myka hoped that she received many more of these hugs from Pete in the future.

"Besides, now you can listen to your spoons."

"My music does _not_ sound like spoons making love. If anything, your terrible hip-hop music should be wiped off the face of the planet."

"At least mine doesn't sound like silverware making sexual advances, Myka."

"You're hopeless." She laughed, her eyes crinkling lightly as she did so.

"Spooooons, Myka. Spooooons." If anything, she laughed harder.

**AN: I'm quite content with this one. As for the "spoons" part, my friend told me yesterday that some of my instrumental music sounded like silverware banging. My mind was in the gutter, thus bringing upon this. Ha, ha. **

**You know the drill: read and review!**


	2. Italian

**AN: People seemed to put this story on story alert, so I guess I might as well make this a two-shot. Haha. **

_And as he spoke, he spoke ordinary words  
Although they did not feel  
For I felt what I had not felt before  
You'd swear those words could heal  
And as I looked up into those eyes  
His vision borrows mine  
And I know he's no stranger  
For I feel I've held him for all of time_

_Ordinary Day- Vanessa Carlton_

"You made a promise that you wouldn't play your music, though." Pete stuck out his lip and his partner rolled her eyes.

"What does it matter? You're always breaking _your_ promises, anyway."

"Yeah, but I'm serious this time. I don't want to listen to this."

"I hate riding in silence."

"Then let me play some of my-"

"No!" Pete shrunk back into his seat, eyes glancing over at her repeatedly.

"Jeez, Myka. All right. I don't see what the problem is with my taste in music." She barked out a laugh and he winced.

"Pete, your music consists of talking about shaking it on the dance floor and dropping it like it's hot, so I would have to say that my case wins."

"When did I sue you?" She shakes her head, the corner of her mouth curling up.

"You're impossible."

"You're in desperate need of some wrinkle cream." He stuck his tongue out and she punched him in the arm. "And a travel-friendly bottle of Aleve, because you keep _punching_ me!"

"How did you ever survive in government training?" He rolled his eyes and settled back into his seat, eyeing the road ahead. Later that evening, on their way back from Florida, they stopped in at a little Italian restaurant before they switched drivers.

"They don't have tacos." Myka stared at Pete incredulously.

"It's an _Italian _restaurant."

"Well, Dairy Queen is an ice cream shop but _they_ serve cheeseburgers."

"There's a difference between a restaurant and a _fast food joint_."

"Then go look up restaurant in the dictionary, Miss Know-It-All! Restaurant: an establishment where meals are served-"

"Can I take your orders?" A tiny voice piped in and the two agents turned to see a teenage girl, clearly nervous from their heated argument, standing ready with a pen and pad. Myka noticed her fingers trembling slightly.

"Yeah," Pete grinned and heaved the menu up to his face, "I'll have the…." He rambled off several items from the menu as Myka bit her tongue, watching the girl's eyes widen as he listed choice after choice.

"And you, miss?"

"A salad, Italian dressing, no tomatoes and a bowl of your soup of the day." The waitress nodded, smiled, promised the rolls would be out in a minute, and hurried to the next table.

"A salad and soup? You realize we're eating _dinner_, right?"

"Who are you smuggling food to? Several third-world countries?" They barked at each other in unison. After being caught off-guard, they stared embarrassingly at one another for a few seconds before muttering a quick apology. Myka rattled her foot against the table's stand while Pete drummed his palms to the beat inside his head.

"Are you trying to play footsies with me?" Pete gasped sarcastically and fluttered his hand in front of his chest. "I'm so touched!"

"What? No!"

"You've been rubbing against my leg this entire time. I think that would count as footsies. I must say, you're very forthcoming. And not even a drop of alcohol in you…"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Pete. I've been kicking the table's pole."

"AKA my leg. You're a pervert, Bering." He was laughing but she found none of it funny. She just wanted to crawl into her bed at Leena's and collapse into a deep sleep- as if that ever happened. Myka brought her heel back and dug it into his knee cap. She smiled sweetly as he winced, his face scrunched up and reminding her of the ferret, Pete.

"Here's your food." The waitress settled the plates onto the table and was gone within the blink of an eye. Myka eyed her meal, making sure there were no spit marks or cyanide pills shoved in between the leaves of her salad.

"Look, here's how you do it," Pete poked a spoonful of soup into her face and prodded it at her closed mouth. "It won't kill you."

"Phetgtatwayfmme." She spoke through her clenched teeth, sending daggers his way to notify him to _stop_ acting like a three year-old's parent. She could feed herself, damn it.

"Myka, here comes the train!" Pete started making train sounds, bringing the spoon closer and closer. "Choo-choo! Choo-choo!"

"Phhete. Shhtop."

"Choooooo-chooooo! All aboard!" Myka flung her hand out, slapping the silverware away from her face and watched as the spoon flipped out of Pete's hand, tossing over and over again in midair before sending the soup all over his face with a huge _splat_. She gasped, picking up a napkin subconsciously and leaning over the table to clean the mess off of him.

"You." She swallowed, hoping he would understand she hadn't meant to fling the soup onto him. "Are in serious trouble." His hand shot down, grabbing a fistful of barbeque and throwing it at her. The food hit her square in the chest, little bits bouncing up to pepper her face and hair. Without missing a beat, she burst out laughing and tossed two handfuls of lettuce and dressing at him. As he was collecting other items to litter her with, she slipped out of the booth and ran for the door. Pete slid out right on her heels and dug into his pocket, dumping two twenties onto the table and grabbed some barbeque to continue the food fight with his partner. "Keep the change!"

**AN: I don't know if I can go on. How can I wait until **_**next summer**_**? I won't be able to handle it. I'll have to make up my own episodes in my head to deal with Pete's absence in my life. Even re-watching every episode on Hulu can't help me. Haha. **

**So ready for the second season! **


End file.
